Peter Hamilton - The Dreaming Void

It was a mountain which Laril's lawyers were doing their very best to prevent her ever setting foot on; their counter-suit had frozen Araminta's own assets, all seven hundred and thirty-two pounds she had in her savings account. Even Cressida with all her firm's resources was finding it hard to break through Laril's legal protection, and as for his commercial activities they had proved even more elusive to pin down. All his early talk of being the centre of a Dynasty-like network of profitable companies was either a lie or a cover-up for some astonishing financial irregularities. Intriguingly, Viota's National Revenue Service had no record of him paying tax at any time in the last hundred years, and were now showing a healthy interest in his activities.

'Skipped. Departed. Left this world. Gone vertical. Uprooted. Cressida grasped Araminta's hands and gave them a near-painful squeeze. 'He didn't even pay his lawyers. And her happiness at that eventuality was indecent. 'And now they're just another name on the list of fifty creditors after his arse.

Araminta's brief moment of delight suddenly darkened. 'So I get nothing?

'On the contrary. His remaining solid assets, that's his town-house, and the stadium food franchise, which we did manage to freeze right at the start are rightfully yours. Admittedly, they don't quite add up to the kind of assets that bragging about will sway a naive young girl's head.

Araminta blushed furiously.

'But not to be sneered at. Unfortunately, there is the question of back taxes. Which I'm afraid amounts to three hundred and thirty-seven thousand Viotia pounds. And if the NRS could ever prove half of Laril's ventures that you told me about, they'd claim the rest too. Bloodsucking fiends. However, they can't prove a damn thing thanks to the excellent encryption and strange lack of records your slippery ex has muddled his life with. Then there's my fee, which is ten per cent seeing as how you're family and I admire your late-found pride. So, the rest is yours, clear and free.

'How much?

'Eighty-three thousand.

Araminta couldn't speak. It was a fortune. Agreed, nothing like the corporate megastructure Laril had claimed he owned and controlled, but still more than she'd expected and asked for in the divorce petition. Ever since she walked into Cressida's office she'd allowed herself to dream she might, just might, come out of this with thirty or forty thousand, that Laril would pay just to be rid of her. 'Oh great Ozzie, you are kidding, she whispered.

'Not a bit of it. A judge friend of mine has allowed us to expedite matters, on account of the circumstances of truly tragic hardship I claimed you're suffering. Your savings are now unfrozen, and we'll transfer Laril's money into your account at four o'clock this afternoon. Congratulations. You're a free and single woman again.

Araminta was horrified that she was crying, her hands seemed to flap about in front of her face of their own violation.

'Wow! Cressida put her arm around Araminta's shoulder, rocking her playfully. 'How do you take bad news?

'It's over? Really over?

'Yep. Really. So what say you and I go celebrate. Tell your manager where to stick his menu, go pour soup over a customer's head, then we'll hit the coolest clubs in town and ruin half the male population. How about it?

'Oh. Araminta looked up, wiping tears with the back of her hand; the mention of Matthew made her realize she was supposed to be serving. 'I need to get back. Lunch is really busy. They rely on me.

'Hey, calm down, take a minute. Think of what's happened here.

Araminta nodded her head sheepishly, glancing round the restaurant. Her co-workers were all trying not to glance in her direction; Matthew was annoyed again. 'I know. I'm sorry. It's going to take a while to sink in. I can't believe it's all over. I've got to… Oh, Ozzie, there are so many things I want to do.

'Great! Let's get you out of here and bring on the serious partying. We'll start with a decent meal.

'No. Araminta could see Tandra staring anxiously, and gave her a weak thumbs up in return. 'I can't just walk out, that's not fair on everyone else here. They'll need to get a replacement. I'll hand in my notice properly, and work the rest of the week for them.

'Damnit, you are horrendously sweet. No wonder your filthy ex could take advantage so easily.

'It won't happen again.

'Too bloody true it won't. Cressida stood up, smiling proudly. 'From now on I'm vetting anyone you date. At least come out for a drink tonight.

'Um, I really do need to go home after this and work things out.

'Friday night, then. Come on! Everyone goes out Friday night.

Araminta couldn't help the grin on her face. 'All right. Friday night.

'Thank Ozzie for that. And get yourself some serious bad girl clothes first. We're going to do this properly'

'Okay. Yeah, okay, I will. She could actually feel her mood changing, like some warm liquid invading her arteries. 'Uh, where do I go for clothes like that?

'Oh, I'll show you darling, don't you worry.

Araminta did work the lunch shift, then told Matthew she was quitting, but was happy to stay on as long as he needed her. He completely surprised her by giving her a kiss and congratulating her on finally breaking free of Laril. Tandra got all teary and affectionate while the others gathered round to hear the news and cheer.

By half past three in the afternoon she'd put on a light coat and walked out. The cool late spring air outside sobered her up, allowing her to think clearly again. Even so, she walked the route she so often walked in the afternoon. Along Ware Street, take a left at the major junction and head down the slope along Daryad Avenue. The buildings on either side were five or six storeys tall, a typical mix of commercial properties. Regrav capsules slid silently overhead, while the metro track running down the centre of the avenue hummed with public cabs. Right now the roads had few vehicles, yet Araminta still waited at the crossings for the traffic solidos to change shape and colour. She barely noticed her fellow pedestrians.

The Glayfield was a bar and restaurant at the bottom of the slope, occupying two storeys of an old wood and composite building, part of the original planet landing camp. She made her way through the dark deserted bar to the stairs at the back, and went up to the restaurant. That too was virtually empty. Up at the front it boasted a sheltered balcony where in her opinion the tables were too close; waitresses would have trouble squeezing between them when they were full. She sat at one next to the rail which gave her an excellent view along Daryad Avenue. This was where she came most afternoons to wind down after her shift at Nik's, sitting with a hot orange chocolate watching the people and the ships. Over to her right the Avenue curved upwards into the bulk of the city, producing a wall of tall buildings expressing the many construction phases and styles that had come and gone in Colwyn's hundred and seventy year history. While to her left the River Cairns cut through the land in a gentle northward curve as it flowed out to the Great Cloud Ocean twenty miles away. The river was half a mile wide in the city, the top of a deep estuary which made an excellent natural harbour. Several marinas had been built on both sides, providing anchorage to thousands of private yachts, ranging from little sailing dinghies up to regrav assisted pleasure cruisers. Two giant bridges spanned the water, one a single unsupported arch of nanotube carbon, the other a more traditional suspension bridge with pure white pillars a flamboyant three hundred metres tall. Capsules slid along beside them, but the ground traffic was almost nonexistent these days. They were mainly used by pedestrians. They led over to the exclusive districts on the south bank, where the city's wealthier residents flocked amid long green boulevards and extensive parks. On the northern shore, barely half a mile from the Glayfield, the docks were built into the bank and out into the mudflats; two square miles of cargo-handling machinery and warehouses and quays and landing pads and caravan platforms. It was the hub from which the Izyum continent had been developed, the second starport on the planet. There was no heavy industry on Viotia; major engineering systems and advanced technology were all imported. With Ellezelin only seventy-five lightyears away, Viotia was on the fringe of the Free Trade Zone. A market which the local population grumbled was free for Ellezelin companies all right, but disadvantaged everyone else caught in their commercial web. There wasn't a wormhole linking Viotia to Ellezelin. Yet. But talk was that in another hundred years when Viotia's internal market had grown sufficiently, one would be opened allowing the full range of cheap Ellezelin products to flood through, turning them into an economic colony. In the meantime, starships from External Worlds came and went. She watched them as she sipped her orange chocolate; a line of huge freighters, their metal hulls as dull as lead, heavy and ungainly, drifting down vertically out of the sky. Behind them, the departing ships rose away from the planet, brushing through Viota's legendary pink clouds, accelerating fast once they reached the stratosphere. Araminta gave them a mild grin, thinking of the anti-ingrav woman. If she was right what would the starships' field effect be doing to the geology beneath the city? Maybe a simple wormhole would be the answer; she rather liked the idea, a throwback to the First Commonwealth era of genteel and elegant train travel between star systems. It was a shame that the External Worlds rejected such links out of hand, but they valued their political freedom too much to risk a return to a monoculture, especially with the threat of Higher culture overwhelming their hard-won independence.